The hardcover copy of "For Whom The Bell Tolls" from a library sale
had sat on the shelf many years before I picked it up last week. This has
been my way with the classics: I try and give up only to come back to them later
with renewed interest. So there's hope that I might finally get to Shakespeare.
It says about myself, I guess, and might also typifies a kind of progress.
Robert Jordan, a Spanish professor at the University of Montana, took a leave to
fight the fascists in Spain. A dynamiter, he was to blow up a bridge behind the
enemy line at the get-go of a major attack in three days. He turned to a
guerrilla band in the nearby mountains, marshaled the team despite of its
disillusioned drunkard leader, reported back on enemy maneuvers, and when the
time came, successfully carried out his mission. Moving out with the survivors
of the band, however, Jordan was injured at the hip, said goodbye to his love,
and was left to face the pursuing enemies and his certain death.
I was glad the end was short.
I loved the style. Without an overflow of rare words, familiar words with rare
meanings, or idiomatic devices, the clarity and elegance of the prose shine
through and the landcapes and characters stand out in 507 pages of clean
writing. For example, Hemingway would say simply "full lips" instead of
"bee-stung lips," which some modern writers seem to prefer. His "A Farewell to
Arms" spoke to me even in college. Here are two passages of Jordan's soliloquy
for a taste:
They trusted you on the language, principally. They trusted you on
understanding the language completely and speaking it idiomatically and
having a knowledge of the different places. A Spaniard was only really loyal
to his village in the end. First Spain of course, then his own tribe, then
his province, then his village, his family and finally his trade. If you
knew Spanish he was prejudiced in your favor, if you knew his province it
was that much better, but if you knew his village and his trade you were in
as far as any foreigner ever could be. He never felt like a foreigner in
Spanish and they did not really treat him like a foreigner most of the time;
only they turned on you.
Of course they turned on you. They turned on you often but they always
turned on every one. They turned on themselves, too. If you had three
together, two would unite against one and then the two would start to betray
each other. Not always, but often enough for you to take enough cases and
start to draw it as a conclusion.
As the book is mine, I get to return to it as often as I like.
